Moonstruck
by Sweethearts
Summary: Read and find out....
1. “Creation of the Oreads”

Title: Moonstruck Author: Christabelle (one of the Sweethearts)  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Dunno.. read and find out! "Give each blossom to any maiden of your choice, and that maiden will match that of the flowers. Forevermore, that will by thy gift."  
  
CHAPTER 1: "Creation of the Oreads"  
  
Once upon a time, in the far away kingdom of Constantinople, there lived a young king named Priam Nostradamme and his fair queen Alcyone. Priam and Alcyone ruled with great dignity and respect for all their subjects and so were loved by all. Now, Priam was unarguably a sound and reasonable king, but he unfortunately lacked the skills of battle tactics, so the Constantinople constantly had the threat of Turkish forces at its back. But, nevertheless, Priam still managed to defend Constantinople and, not to mention, all of the Byzantine Empire. His people and empire were flourishing beautifully, and that, to Priam's own judgment, was Priam's most outstanding achievement.  
  
However, only two years after Priam and Alcyone's reign, Priam fell ill and died on a campaign to Wales. Full of grief after her husband's death, Alcyone took her own life. All of Constantinople lamented for the sovereigns. Unfortunately, the former king and queen had not conceived a successor, so Priam's nephew Heracles de Paradis took to the throne along with a most bedazzling bride from Britanny named Amphitritus of Arawn.  
  
Consequently, Heracles was not as judicious as his uncle, but his knowledge of the battlefield bore an impeccable luster that no other could emulate, or so all his subjects presumed. The Byzantium Empire was no longer at the whim of the Turkish force and its most hateful sultan. By then, Constantinople was the bustling center of economy and commerce throughout the world. Its beauty brought numerous merchants, soldiers, and fortune hunters seeking excitement and the beauteous wonders of Constantinople.  
  
The royal family itself possessed a treasure worthy of crossing the gold-lined gates of Olympus. This certain treasure was something Heracles took upon himself to make possible when his political affairs (save war tactics) were unceremoniously left to his most trusted advisors of the court. Throughout Heracles' domain lies beautiful mountains, forests, streams, waterfalls-lairs that, despite their breathtaking scenery, do not attract even the bravest of adventures. Dangerous, they might not be, but only an inane person would foolishly lead an expedition into the domain presided over by the unpredictable gods. Jupiter, in his powerful rule over all earth and Olympus looked to all mankind fairly, but, in his preoccupation over numerous infidelities, assigned the goddesses Discord and Strife to maintain balance in the serenity of Constantinople's natural surroundings. Discord and strife, having served the god of war, Mars, keeps peace only to a land of no invading travelers. Anyone would be at the mercy of their enjoyment had he dared to venture into their lair.  
  
Heracles, a great adventurer, longed to see Discord and strife's domain, so for 12 nights he gave offerings to the goddesses, with twice as much goods each night than the night before. And with that, Heracles was permitted to go as he pleased. The Cerynitian Forests, the Lagoon of Charybdis, the Alpheus streams, and the Mountains of Hyacinthus were a picturesque awe to Heracles. His visits were frequent and each time, he discovered a new wonder.  
  
However, Discord and Strife's spiteful nature was a loss on Heracles' cause that his time to poach on their lair was only 12 days. The flavor of nature's creation still lingered on his tongue, so Discord and Strife permitted Heracles a token of their kindness.a souvenir, to be exact. They allowed the king of Constantinople to take with him seven blossoms form wherever the pleased, and Heracles chose the Falls of Scyllia, for there, blossoms of wondrous pulchritude flourished. Heracles chose a narcissus, hyacinth, Adonis flower, an orchid, a lily, petunia, and a blood red rose. Knowing that Heracles' gift will eventually wilt, Discord and Strife provided some closure.  
To him, they said, "Thou hast maintaineth an boundless loyalty hence thy virtuous offering. The Scyllian blossoms, though beautiful in their temporary stead, will wilt in piteous despair. Preservation on our domain is seemingly quixotic. But, ahh! An idea to commemorate thy sighting. Give each blossom to any maiden of thy choosing, and that maiden's beauty, charm, and grace will match that of the flower. Forever more, that till by thy gift!"  
  
And so he did. His wife, Amphitritus, in her admirable humility and fairness, refused a blossom when her husband offered one. She herself preferred a devotion to their 5-year-old son instead of a beauty or wit that she already possessed. From his royal kingdom, Heracles selected seven sweet girls, all still in swaddling clothes, on whom to bestow his gifts, in hopes that one of them may please his own son with her fair countenance.  
  
To Lavinia, the daughter of Constantinople's highest-ranking vizier, Heracles gave the hyacinth. He then offered the Adonis bloom to Persephone, daughter of Constantinople's wealthiest merchant. The petunia went to the royal aster-at-arms' child, Electra. To the child, who was called Romaine, of his own favorite craftsman, Heracles gave the narcissus. The orchid went to Natali, the daughter of Constantinople's most renowned poet. The lily was offered to Elison, the daughter of Heracles' political councilman, whom he favored most.  
  
"Only one flower left," thought Heracles, and he was at a loss of to whom he should give it. He stared at the blood red rose in his palm, and it gleamed back at him, or so he imagined it did. It was then that he realized how typical the bloom was, despite its striking, crimson epidermis. It was as if his rose was not as unique as the other blooms, and its stubborn thorns were a constant pain; it bled him several times. The rose lacked the originality of all the others, but its scent was wonderfully intoxicating. Heracles left it alone for several days to contemplate to whom he should give it and also to let his fingers heal. The thorns almost symbolized the flower's solitary existence, so its receiver must have the same quality.  
  
Then and there, Heracles decided to give it to Selenity, a forgotten member of his own royal family. Selenity's mother was a distant cousin of Heracles (several times removed), and she died without revealing who the father of her illegitimate child was. Amphitritus, the philanthropist that she is, allowed the child to stay in the royal family without making an unneeded fuss. Heracles also thought it best. The child was always difficult and bawled constantly. It deserved the thorny rose.  
  
As the maidens grew, they bedazzled Constantinople, along with all of Byzantine, with their promised beauty and elegance. The eldest, Lavinia, had locks of chestnut and mystical watercress eyes, who also could carry a tune quite well. Next is Persephone, tall and proud; she always flung her light flaxen hair and hazel eyes. Fair Electra was blessed with black-brown locks and violet eyes. Romaine, a little narcissistic herself, constantly primps her cranberry hair and forest-green eyes. Graceful Natali occupies a head of ginger petal hair and grayish-purple eyes. Elison was adorned with rose-pearl hair and cinnamon eyes. And the youngest, the last and seemingly almost always least, is Selenity, who herself possesses hair that color of dark piercing sunrays or ripe wheat fields of gold, which, if given the right judgment, almost exceeds the others. Her eyes, large and innocent, is the unforgettable cerulean of a clear sky on a fresh spring day.  
  
The seven girls were between the ripe ages of nineteen and seventeen, and they were the virtually untouchable treasure of Constantinople. King Heracles and Queen Amphitritus admitted them all to royalty along with their kinsmen, if they were not already, and the maidens lived in comfort. Pampered by the servants and constantly adulated by all of Byzantine, the "Oreads of Scyllia" (their titled name) lived in the luxury of imperial Constantinople, beloved by all who know them. Heracles and Amphitritus' son Ephialtes had not chosen one of the Oreads as his father hoped, but he did select an equally elegant maiden named Ambrogina. However, Constantinople did receive a myriad of youths hoping to seek the interest of one of the seven Oreads. 


	2. “In Which the Distant Selenity is Seen A...

The long waited chapter 2 had arrived.. please give us feedback or review!  
  
"Words are as rain on a stone wall! `Tis better to have loved in one's  
life. A small sacrifice of virtue, of course!"  
  
CHAPTER 2: "In Which the Distant Selenity is Seen Among the Others"  
  
Despite their elegance, grace, and overwhelming beauty, the maidens were somewhat vain and haughty, always simpering over each other's own attractiveness. They were all very knowledgeable of all the aspects of love because their fatal attraction was not usually left unnoticed by many a gentleman caller. The only Oread who invariably kept to herself was the bearer of the thorny, blood red rose, Selenity. She is seventeen and as thorny and reclusive as the lone rose. The others, in fact, shunned poor Selenity and belittled her unappreciated grace and fairness.  
  
They would scoff, "Pitiful Selenity! How homely and fatuous you are- never to have known a man or even looketh at one! Always alone and distant! Estranged little chit!"  
  
`Tis true, most visitors of Constantinople would very well prefer the company of only the first six Oreads and not Selenity, but they, nonetheless, request to gaze upon the gorl for she possesses the queerest facial feature. From the result of a surreal fate, or just Discord and Strife's careless cavorting of magic, is a faint crescent moon on Selenity's forehead, between her brows. This strange phenomenon goes very well unnoticed by the other girls because either they never noticed before, hence Selenity's aloofness, or they choose not to. However, as a loss cause to poor Selenity, jealousy flares when guests insist on Selenity's presence despite the other girls' coercing.  
  
Because of all the unwanted attention toward the awkward Oread, the others would alienate Selenity even more, looking to every fault at which to jeer or laugh. For instance, Selenity's outlandish hair had been a pawn in their cruel ridicule. Two picturesque buns adorn each side of Selenity's head, and from each of them hang a river of hair. They oscillate to and fro whenever she walked.  
  
Despite the weight of hatred on her shoulders, Selenity still remained bright and animated. She seems to be full of felicity, but strangely melancholy at the same time. Many a romance seeker would be grateful to have her; even Heracles is enamored by Selenity's haunting face and resolute indifference. Perhaps Lavinia, Persephone, Electra, Romaine, Natali, and Elison were too forward, but the youthful, wandering eyes are a trifle more enraptured with the virginal innocence of Selenity. Nevertheless, they are still human, and one of the other Oreads, if not Selenity, is better than none at all.  
  
The Oreads, a part of Heracles' court and Constantinople's greatest treasure, were a familiar face at banquets or cotillions, or any act of celebration of the Byzantine Empire.  
  
Selentity, an obvious aristocrat of Constantinople, ironically eludes any festive and boisterous gathering or tribunal of any kind. She capriciously prefers the distance of her own empty, personal space to people. Heracles had granted Selenity liberty to wander anywhere she pleased. He often thought of marrying her off, but the girl desired no companionship, which seems to bring happiness to so many others.  
  
Selenity never had the insufficiency of love because it was not something she fancies. Only roses, especially the crimson ones, seem to full the interminable void in Selenity's destitute soul. It was quite an unnatural obsession, but Heracles and Amphitritus left her to it, for it was harmless, and they hoped she would come to her senses and choose a husband.  
  
One crisp spring day, when Jupiter is contentedly frisking off in one infidelity after another, Selenity managed to hear the other Oreads bantering about the mystics of past love affairs. Ostracized, of course, Selenity received the drifting conversation behind the cloak of yet another rose hedge for which she had begun to feel.  
  
The eldest and always the first to speak, Lavinia proudly stated: "Why, the gentleman of my idolatry surpasses even mighty Jupiter himself!"  
  
Romaine: "Ha! Lavinia, your idealistic beau can only give a superficial love, whereas mine has the will and power of the fearsome Chimera, but he has the wit of Apollo."  
  
Elison: "`Tis true, but do your lovers truly value thee with equal passion? Methinks they lie from first kiss to wedding bed."  
  
Persephone: "Elison, you fool, your words are naught but jealousy and spite, for any man who glances your way is nothing more than a hideous Mulciber!" At this Elison grimaced annoyingly.  
  
Natali: "Words are as rain on a stone wall! `Tis better to have loved in one's life. A small sacrifice of virtue, of course!" She suppressed a giggle.  
  
Electra: "Which brings a reminder; I pity the distant fool. Poor Selenity! Celibacy does have its consequences."  
  
Then there was that spiteful and cruel innuendo as the girls found a much more enlightening diversion than love, which conveniently is scoffing at the only one of them who never valued love in the sense that they did. It must have been a skin-gnawing irritant to mull over the fact that people still express interest in Selenity, who basks in her sobriety. She will cede to nothing more, yet is still reserved the same attention. It is the Oreads' misguided belief toward the diffident Selenity, and they are so wrapped in envy that they do not know who to admit it.  
  
Squirming in discomposure at the others' remark, Selenity finally delved into their mentality. What they so blatantly spoke of is just the damaging addiction of lust. And they so stupidly call it love, thought she, but Selenity is still human, and lust may strike her fancy later if not sooner. Hurtful at their words, as she had always been, Selenity returned to Heracles' citadel.  
  
Perhaps the mighty and beautiful Venus would pity the maiden. The goddess had been known to satisfy her whims with pain and sorrow, but she regards a potential love when it is present. Venus did this time and sent a miracle to Constantinople. 


	3. “The Kinsmen and the Mercenary”

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"It is I, Endymion of Acquitaine.."  
  
CHAPTER 3: "The Kinsmen and the Mercenary"  
  
Queen Amphitritus anxiously awaited news from the kingdom of Brittany, from whence hail her two kinsmen, third cousins or so, who are many years her junior.  
  
Amphitritus herself did not belong to a royal family, but she had been a part of the Brittany line and its most powerful court. Her two kinsmen, sons of Anthony, leader of Brittany's military legion, came to pay homage to Constantinople, this time for the first. What attracted them the most was the city's greatest treasure-the Oreads of Scyllia.  
  
Heracles, being a merry and lax man, insisted on yet more celebration for the kinsmen, mainly to please the political leaders of Brittany and gain their full alliance in his campaign against the Turkish army.  
  
And so came the day when Amphitritus' kinsmen arrived. Their royal titles were that of the gods, and so were their wit and charm. Valentinian of the Rhiannon and his half brother Deucalion de Montpierre (nicknamed the Deucalion Diamond for his sizable nobility and consequence) rode gallantly on gargantuan steeds toward the towering citadel of Constantinople. Equally attractive in their share, Valentinian and Deucalion were both tall and formidable with an indomitable physique. Valentinian bore striking ginger- red hair and watery gray easy, whereas his brother possessed a whitish glare to his hair and pearly turquoise eyes.  
  
The maidens of Constantinople swooned one by one at their arrival, but the visitors' fancy lies only in Heracles' renowned Oreads of Scyllia, or so was their hidden reason.  
  
Amphitritus welcomed her kinsmen warmly, and Heracles presented his won son Ephialtes and wife Ambrogina. He then acquainted Lavinia, Persephone, Electra, Romaine, Natali, and Elison, while Selenity speculated everything from behind the courtyard walls. She remained hidden until Amphitritus finally requested and cajoled for her reluctant presence. Much to her own despair and that of every other Oread, Selenity struck the curiosity of Deucalion, the more practical and mulish one of the two kinsmen, and also the one who does not so easily relinquish the satisfaction of his own curiosity, especially on such a little maid with so much potential if given the right impression.  
  
Before a request was cited, Romaine had successfully erased Deucalion's whimsical curiosity, and his focus returned to a more obvious beauty; it even served as a safeguard to Selenity's personal distance. She quietly returned to the sanction of the rose menagerie.  
  
Meanwhile, aside from Amphitritus' visitors, Heracles expected his own personal guest. During a brief campaign to Wales, Heracles had unfortunately stumbled on a band of thieves wile out alone for his nightly ale, and his savior was an impressionable young mercenary with a stalwart nature. Nocturnal excursions to the less reputable parts of Wales would do no good to Heracles' well-built Byzantium esteem, so he thought it best to keep the incident as clandestine as possible. The mercenary accepted no compensation save Heracles' gratitude, but the king, in his gratefulness, managed an impromptu invitation to Constantinople twelve days after summertime, which, for the sake of this story, is this very night.  
  
Through night's cloak on his own intimidating Cypriot (a type of stallion), the Welsh mercenary galloped towards the lighted citadel, centered neatly in Constantinople. Heracles' personal footmen tended to his crony.  
  
"Come!" commanded Heracles only half jokingly and with an air of habituated dignity, "kneel before Constantinople's mighty sovereign and present yourself!"  
  
The mercenary stared at the king quite sardonically and then bowed overdramatically. "It is I, Endymion of Acquitaine.." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next. In his escapades in Wales, Heracles de Paradis quite forgot his kingly attitude and seemed to be on friendly terms with the locals. Thus, they no more thought of him as a high king than dear old Jupiter personified fidelity. Granted, he did present his position, but with the pretext of keeping himself as low-key as possible in the midst of a battle wherein would-be assassins lurked to kill the leader of any and all campaigns, Heracles did not stress that bit of information.  
  
"Dear Sir of Acquitaine, friend Endymion, yes, I am king, king of little old Constantinople. I am inclined to grant a little more than my gratitude for such a king service." Heracles balked suddenly as his guest drew quick conclusions.  
  
"Ahem," said the mercenary, "I am at your service, my lord."  
  
Upon Endymion's arrival, Heracles had fabricated a good enough lie to explain the impromptu visit, and Endymion had the proper discretion to just nod and agree. He had allegedly assisted the Byzantium force in Wales instead of assisting Heracles out of a pitiful dilemma. Of course, gullibility and extreme kindness are two of Amphitritus' few flaws, and she put much credence in her husband's works, while knowing full well that the Byzantium army needs anything but assistance, especially if led by a tactful leader like Heracles. She readily accepted Endymion as she did her own kinsmen and offered him a room befitting an honored hero.  
  
Amphitritus believed Heracles well enough, through the haze of her gullibility, she still questioned the credibility of her husband's vague tale. The queen's caution may be overridden by her kindness, but she is in no way stupid. Heracles' heard seemed to her a little too open tonight. Nonetheless, Endymion is a Welsh guest, and Byzantine does not want to make more enemies, especially one as Wales than it possibly has to.  
  
During the brief acquaintance, Amphitritus discovered Endymion to be a close personal fiend of Heracles. "A man as great as he is practically royalty!" Heracles jovially declared. And so Endymion was granted a stateroom in Constantinople's citadel.  
  
Heracles thought Endymion a virtuous and portly youth, but too roguish for anyone's own good. He even brought to light the subject of Constantinople's largely coveted Oreads of Scyllia, which would strike anyone's interest. Unfortunately, anyone but Endymion. However, the guest still feigned thankfulness and declared the Oreads only second to Constantinople's noble king. Quite flattered, Heracles insisted he see the wonders of Constantinople, and Endymion promised he would. As he watched the young man go, Heracles perused the youth's character. Endymion was tall; he must possess a sizeable strength. He had black to his hair and a poignantly dark blue to his eyes. Also, as a lone mercenary for Wales, Endymion never did smile much and was invariably grim for so young an age. He is extremely street-smart and tactful beyond meaning, always replying curtly with no exaggeration.  
  
The sadness that Endymion seemed to bear may be connected to a past tragedy. His mother and father must have died, and, as a neophyte in the harsh world, Endymion entered the path of a nomadic mercenary, which is nothing if not grueling. Be that as it may, Endymion always had enough money to keep him alive and well.  
  
The soldier is there only because of a requested visit, but he cannot help but admire the grandeur that is his assigned stateroom in awed predilection. A fitful sleep in one of Constantinople's goose-feathered beds would do no harm. 


	4. “Unwanted praises, Unwanted attention, D...

CHAPTER 4: "Unwanted praises, Unwanted attention, Desirable Encounter"  
  
Heretofore, King Heracles had been eager to entertain his wife's kinsmen to please the Lord of Brittany, but Endymion's presence seemed to ease the political pressure for a while.  
  
For his part, Endymion very well avoided all the celebration and feasting that Heracles and Amphitritus had contrived. But as not to offend his hosts to the limit, Endymion did allow Heracles to make him known throughout the palace grounds, for the king did somehow enjoy that bit. As he had done many times before, Heracles made this a mountain out of a molehill, much to Endymion's despair. "Constantinople is in the prime of her youth! `Tis not the time for me to make the lesser of things!" Heracles would declare.  
  
To Endymion, it was quite a fiasco, but at least Heracles was happy, and Endymion felt blithe to please him. In the uncomfortable appearance of Queen Amphitritus, Prince Enphialtes, and his wife Ambrogina, Valentitian, Deucalion, and the seven Oreads, Heracles related his fabricated story regarding Endymion's presence with overflowing sentiment and glee, while Endymion virtually suffered moral degradation from that ridiculous tale in front of such royalty!  
  
In her state of queenly decorum, Amphitritus felt enraptured at Heracles' tale and even praised Endymion for his partaking on Constantinople's behalf. Her son Ephialtes and his wife Ambrogina also input their gratefulness, though still doubting Heracles' story a bit. However, Valentianian and Deucalion regarded the tale with a dubious look, whereas Endymion dismissed the blatant Brittanian arrogance. He would very well prefer to be thought of as a slavish disciple of Heracles instead of a flouting Welsh.  
  
Endymion surprisingly escaped unscathed from this quite interesting turn of events and took leave to the scenic courtyard while Heracles' royal court voiced their compassionate thoughts of the king's eccentric lackey.  
  
Wandering thought the vast grounds outside Heracles' domain, Endymion pondered his own integrity regarding his existence in Constantinople. The poor mercenary had evaded the illiberal sovereignties, but Venus still yet another trap for him, which lay in the fancy of the Oreads.  
  
Lavinia, as well as the others, was under the assumption of their belated entrance to Heracles' estranged companion, whom very well never mentioned after the campaign in Wales. Curious to discover the mercenary, all except Selenity eavesdropped on Endymion's private counsel. Soon enough, however, they confronted him gleefully. Though caught off guard, Endymion maintained a blasé exterior.  
  
"As I have heard from afar, are not there supposed to be seven Oreads?" was Endymion's grand address. The girls laughed gaily, which was the unmistakable sound of tinkling bells.  
  
Lavinia: "Oh, there is. But only six makes the almighty treasure of Constantinople."  
  
Electra: "You hail from whence, dear sir? And what is your title?  
  
Endymion: "Endymion. I am but a humble Welsh mercenary."  
  
Romaine: "How utterly delightful! We have acquainted all but this particular man. And, sir, you do know who we all are, lest our rudeness made us forget proper introductions."  
  
Endymion: "You are Constantinople's beauties, no more, no less."  
  
Natali: "You must be fatigued and especially lonely after such travels. Constantinople and we hope to accommodate you well."  
  
Persephone and Elison said in unison: "The golden-throned lady that is your wife must be vexed at your most perilous exertions."  
  
Endymion: "She would if I had one." As soon as he had uttered so, the Oreads chuckled slyly, not even a bit mortified at their blunt statement.  
  
Lavinia: "Ahh.then you must have our company."  
  
Endymion: "As would any man, but I want only to see the bearer of the crescent moon." All at once, the eyes of the girls darkened sinisterly. He continued, "Not to offend your ladyships, but pretty girls, though not always equal, can be found in any part of the world, but a phenomenon such as the one on this maiden's face is anything but one to let slip by."  
  
Electra: "`Tis true, that is your fancy, but it will alter soon enough, for the disparity between mirth and Selenity is far too great!"  
  
Romaine: "You will receive no more than a faint and worthless tracing on a dour face. No love or desire exists in that wretched girl."  
  
Persephone: "Do as though please but we will be waiting."  
  
Endymion: "Perhaps there is some truth in your words, but I am one to prefer a dignified lady of immeasurable decorum." He left then, and they stared contemptuously after him.  
  
Free again from yet another spiteful onslaught, Endymion wandered through the rose menagerie when he spied an agile form kneeling before rose vines that slithered up the abode's sidings. She had her back to him and was oblivious of his presence. On the other hand, he reveled at hers. She hummed softly, her small hands caressing the delicate rose buds. He noticed her flaxen hair all done up in the most exotic fashion, which he regarded as very unique. The two buns made her look like the rabbits he hunted sporadically, and the tails hanging from them were not unlike rabbits' drooped ears-long, long ears that dragged on the floor.  
  
Endymion took a step and a twig betrayed him to her obliviousness, and he mentally appealed to her clear blue eyes, downcast face, and twisted mouth. The crescent moon was not a tracing, but in fact it glowed eerily, drawing his most unnatural attention. For a moment, the attraction was mutual, and she would have appreciated his tall and well-honed profile with captivating, midnight blue eyes, deeper than her own, and rugged black hair, had she not been who she was-cold and unrelenting, yet innocent and fearful.  
  
To her eternal annoyance, she was prompted to speak first, with no salutation.  
  
Selenity: "You are a hero of Constantinople according to King Heracles."  
  
Endymion: "Hardly. I was merely an assistance in Heracles' path at the convenient time."  
  
Selenity, dismissing his title as hero: "You referred to my king by name only. `Tis treason for anyone else from Constantinople or Byzantine, for that matter."  
  
Endymion: "I am of Wales, and Heracles is not king there."  
  
Selenity: "But his highness is here, and you are here."  
  
Edymion: "He is king to me only when he chooses to be, and, unfortunately, that isn't too often."  
  
She looked at him skeptically, boring into him. "Hmm.A traveling soldier, swearing allegiance to an available lord, a king actually, to fight with him, but barely acknowledges his title." He now was intrigued by this little precocious who is fireworks under a shroud.  
  
Endymion: "So you do not believe Heracles' tale."  
  
Selenity: "I've heard it vaguely, and it does not sound believable. I know my king hides something disturbing, but he is nonetheless a great king." She had just jumped to defend him so quickly, so afterwards he revealed the truth to her of his relations with Heracles.  
  
Selenity: "Why tell me, the lowest of the Oreads? You don't even know my name."  
  
Endymion: "Lady Selenity, my apologies. I tell because I assume you are not like the others. Your crescent moon is compelling and at the same time disconcerting. Strangely, I trust you with the truth. And also that you are the only one virtuous enough to accept Heracles for his mistakes."  
  
Selenity: "Oh.As virtuous as you?"  
  
Endymion (amusedly): "Touché, milady."  
  
At sunset, Selenity had begun to develop an attractive rapport for this gentleman caller after several exchanges of words. He was witty and complimented her wordlessly; he was charming yet never unctuous; he was never demanding like all of Constantinople's previous extroverts, including its current ones. His name had strangely manifested his most alluring nature. It echoed greatness. And for the first time, her roses were momentarily forgotten.  
  
Endymion: "The story goes interestingly about how the Seven Oreads came to be. You took the rose, so it is your fancy."  
  
Selenity: "It was given to me, actually, by Heracles. And, yes, I am as thorny as it is. That is why the other girls do not think me worthy."  
  
Endymion: "Because you do not love."  
  
Selenity: "Because I am of a virgin soul. They themselves lust, but they never love. They see the Oread as a symbol of love and whatnot; there is plenty of that to dole out around here." That was truly and esoteric answer, meaningful only to one who said it.  
  
Endymion: "They envy you, milady; they envy when guests still favor you even if you will give nothing but a smile, which, in this case, is enough for anyone." She beamed shyly and leaned close to whisper, "Lavinia thinks me stupid. Romaine thinks me a hideous Medusa. Elison thinks my wit is of a rock. Natali thinks me not fit for any suitor. Persephone thinks me a pitiful maid. And Electra thinks I do not know what is expected of me. What opinion that is yours?"  
  
Endymion: "I think you are as worthy as you believe you are."  
  
Selenity: "Well, that is a very sweet speculation. You are a man of sophisticated words, contrary to popular belief. The Oreads must enjoy your company."  
  
Endymion: "I would rather they not, but you have done so quite well." She suddenly turned away to face the roses, eerily alighting them with that strange crescent moon.  
  
Selentity: "I should think you a man of little or no interests."  
  
Endymion: "What little interest there is lies in your crescent moon, milady."  
  
Selenity: "Quite right-a phenomenon to many a lusty eyes."  
  
Endymion: "No, a valued treasure to a lowly mercenary-truly the treasure of Constantinople."  
  
Selenity, with mock consternation: "Oh, what men wouldn't say."  
  
Endymion: "What men wouldn't do! But I digress.."  
  
Lady Selene (the moon) rose to cast surreal shadows upon the fleshy earth. Endymion bade Selenity a good eve and retreated to his stateroom, while she stared after him. "Good night, milord, till it be morrow," she returned the gesture. In truth, she liked the affable man. Endymion was neither arrogant nor evil in the detestable lusty sort of manner.  
  
Needless to say, Endymion returned such considerate feelings. Unlike the other Oreads, Selenity was very resisted and shy. She had a strangely fearful look in her eyes that blatantly manifested a tantalizing innocence, which spurred Endymion's fondness of her. With her first time in a fanciful position such as this, Selenity handled herself quite well. She secretly reveled in Endymion if not her now mundane roses.  
  
* * * * *  
To be continue.  
  
What do you think? 


	5. Cycle of a Duty

Thank you for those of you who took the time to email me and encourage me. I hope you will enjoy this part and continue liking it.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Throughout the next few days, Heracles took the liberty of showing Valentinian and Deucalion, ad well as Apollus with the incomparable majesties of Constantinople, while the Oreads bedazzled them with their own such 'majesties.' This time, Selenity was one of these Oreads, but her appeal lies with Apollus alone, with the occasional attraction of Deucalion. By now, no one had completely regarded Selenity as a true woman yet, but only as a playful companion, and whether that little factor altered or not, Selenity was none the wiser.  
  
Of course when Venus decided to change this little factor, she broke at it with a most potent whim. Selenity's profile was not unlike the other Oreads or any other woman, for that matter. Her exterior was that of the others, even if she did not flaunt it, but what existed physically inside lay dormant. At sixteen, Selenity assumed herself at the top most pinnacle of womanhood—tall, slender, and busty; ready for bearing children. Never mind that she did not know how, but ignorance is bliss. The other girls, very well knowledgeable of themselves, would never divulge such things because they must have thought Selenity a stupid wench, who will never be punctual at anything sexual. Anyway, Venus sent Selenity a leeway to love quite unexpectedly.  
  
At a certain time each day, the Oreads would lounge in the royal bathhouse which was rescrued especially for them with or without the assistance of half a dozen groomers. Selenity, being her aloof self, would choose a scheduled corner of the bathhouse for herself. With an extension network of underground pipes and a furnace, water was kept warm without the aid of boiling it.  
  
In a corner stood Selenity, bearing the distant chattering of the other girls drifting from the quaint bathing pool, which was the beat of the bathhouse. Selenity's little corner was nestled quite far from the pool, when she had the convenience of warm water, but not in as large a pool as the others, and she also did not place herself in one.  
  
A bath for Selenity was never attractive because of her own self- consciousness among the other girls. They have often before ridiculed Selenity for her skinny form which thoroughly lacked the trimmings they thought were perfection. True, her chest may not be as large, her legs may be not as long, but her hidden charm and grace was undeniable.  
  
Today however, she reveled at her womanly physique—her flat stomach, enticing curve... she liked the fact that Apollus thought her beautiful. As water bedecked her body, she felt a pang of pain in her loins. After she made use of the bath oils on herself, and washed all the soap off her hair, the unbearable anguish returned. She moaned and dismissed as a minor consequence for missing supper last cue. Selenity rubbed her face as a red water formed at her feet. Through the blurry soapy water, her eyes confirmed it was blood.  
  
Selenity never recalled injuring herself, and she looked at herself strickenly. The revelation was terrifying when she realized the blood flowed unhinderingly from between her legs.  
  
Selenity screamed.  
  
A while later, the other Oreads came running toward her shrieking and what they saw was a site for sore eyes (for them at least). Amused, they began to laugh at Selenity vulnerable form.  
  
Lavinia said between laughs, "Get up, you fool! 'Tis only the burdening cycle of a duty."  
  
Persephone put in, "Thou art covered in thy own blood! Now thou must bathe again!"  
  
Romaine added in a singsong voice: "Selenity's ready for childbearing! Won't thou satisfy the ever so elusive Deuculion? Or will thou prefer that arrogant yet roughish mercenary, Selenity!"  
  
Bewildered at their words Selenity could do nothing but huddle and continue crying. Lavinia approached her slowly and roughly shook her shoulders. She gave Selenity a hard slap while Romaine, Elison, and Alatali giggled. Lavinia, by now had grown increasingly outraged at Selenity's outburst. The voice would inevitably bring unwanted visitors and rumors. Lavina; "Shut up, you imbecile! Crying will only bring all of Constantinople pounding at the bathhouse door! Clean thyself and then someone may assist thee in binding thyself."  
  
Electra came forth. "She cannot comprehend, Lavina. Let her alone. At least her crying has ceased."  
  
"Let us go, King Heracles will soon return. He and his gentlemen will be thrilled to hear Selenity's good news." Alatali thought out loud.  
  
* * *  
  
And so they left Selenity in a pitiful state, while they sauntered to spread the alleged good news. Still naked and vulnerable, Selenity was forced to clean herself again and steal silently back to her chambers, which Heracles placed seemingly on a chamber of each Oread, Selenity's being last, of course.  
  
With the help of an understanding maid, Selenity bound herself with linen stripping, and her maid so kindly explained the lot of a women's monthly burden to Selenity. The truth of it all made her cringe upon the fact that the pain would return, punctually every month. The burden will lift once she is near fifty, the old maid informed, but she is a long way from there. "Now, milady, thou art a woman," said the old maid warmly, and she left Selenity alone to contemplate over the day's events.  
  
So Selenity mulled over the prospects of womanhood. She often heard the Oreads speak of marriage, so it must be her turn soon. Despite the slim chances, the Oreads may begin to accept her now, Selenity hoped.  
  
Meanwhile, King Heracles, Valentinian, Deuculion, and Apollus had returned from the sight-seeing of Constantinople, when the Oreads rushed to their king with some reusing news on Selenity's expense.  
  
Lavinia squealed, "the once childish Selenity is now a woman!" And then they all squealed delightfully with the most vivid details, while Heracles nodded approvingly, acknowledging the fact that Selenity is now ready for marriage just as any of the other Oreads. He said just that when Amphitritus entered. She too joined the others. None except the Oreads thought Selenity's epiphany a laughing matter composed for nothing but a tease.  
  
Although the Oreads' fancy in a soulmate highly fluctuates, Selenity's whim is always steadfast, despite the fact that it will never be her whim, but the order of some higher authority.  
  
The day's attraction soon led to a hot attraction between the Oreads and Valentinian and Deucalion. Somewhere in a corner of Heracles' court stood Apollus with a contemplative mien. The prospect of Selenity's belated womanhood was striking to everyone, and it quite changes the situational relationship between himself and Selenity. She is now his protégé of maturity and, thus, more desirable, or so he would like to have it been.  
  
Selenity stared silently out her bedroom window, overlooking the rose menagerie as pain scorched noiselessly through her loins. In night's proverbial cloak, she spotted Apollus staring wistfully up at her.  
  
Selenity relaxed. "So it is thee. No doubt thou has heard the court gossip." She lowered a hand to ease her mauled belly.  
  
"It is I and no other. And, yes, thy rousing revelation hath not fallen on deaf ears." He waited patiently for what she had to say, but she just stared expressionlessly down at him with the wind teasing her hair and thrashing so lightly against a flushed face; her eyes never faltering. She tantalized his senses.  
  
"Did anyone of the court laugh?" was her diffident query after a long beat.  
  
"No, save the Oreads unfortunately."  
  
"Thou art not surprised, nor would thou be...Anyway...um...why art thou here, at this hour?"  
  
* * *  
  
To Be Continue 


End file.
